


Till Human Voices Wake Us

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the ICBMs descend on their targets, a strange malfunction in the Tower leads Miles and Charlie to experience something to which neither would like to admit. There are microscopic spoilers for season two ahead, so if you really are completely spoiler free, you may wish to avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Have Lingered in the Chambers of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mercscilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercscilla/gifts).



> All titles allude to "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot - in short, the greatest combination of words ever created by humankind.

“Ten, nine, Aaron! –”

Hollowness sets in as Charlie watches the indifferent wink of the missiles, hears an unfamiliar edge to Miles’s voice – like he’s finally reached the end of what he can imagine.

“Five, four, three, two –”

They all know what’s next, so Miles doesn’t bother to finish. His black eyes flick away from the disappointment that is Aaron Pittman to lock onto Charlie. Miles crosses the space between them in a single step and folds his big body around hers, as if it’s Charlie he’s trying to shield from the bombs instead of the millions dying, thousands of miles away. 

Black edges menacingly inward from the periphery of her vision, static buzzes in her ears, the river-whiskey-sweat of Miles threatens to overwhelm her. At last, the missiles’ pulse commandeers her heartbeat, flushing blood too fast through her arteries, and the black wins.

_She can feel him breathing all around her, like they are buried together in some throbbing, primordial womb. It’s warm, salty-tasting, close. Miles’ breath is puffing on her cheek, synched with the all-encompassing rhythm. Suddenly uncomfortably hot, she flails elbows and heels in every direction, but Miles just tightens his grip around her. His body seems to say: Stop struggling and tell me what you want._

_Too hot, she mouths, and perhaps she’s managed it aloud, because Miles pulls off his coat and helps her out of her jacket. Still not enough, she claws at fabric. In a moment, she’s wormed out of her boots, socks, and pants, yet the heat still pours off her damp skin. Part of the discomfort has got to be Miles’ clothes – she yanks at them now, until she’s stripped him down to his boxer shorts. Only then does she pause to acknowledge the oddity of being near naked with her uncle; however, her mother and Aaron are no longer their audience. They have vanished and with them all accountability._

_“Better?” Miles asks, touching the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up.” Her sweat-slicked legs slide against the hair on his, igniting friction._

_Now it occurs to Charlie to panic. They must be at the epicenter of the nuclear bomb – their flesh slowly melting from radiation. Perhaps she screams, perhaps she just starts kicking again, but Miles draws her cheek to the soft fur of his chest, his heart thundering. She noiselessly sobs at the thought of the pain they must endure before that beautiful sound is silenced. Why aren’t they dead yet?_

_“What’s wrong, Charlie?”_

_Why doesn’t Miles understand that they’re burning alive?_

_We’re dying! she mouths at him, pulling back so that he can read her lips properly. One of his hands entangles in the streams of blonde hair about her neck. He doesn’t appear adequately concerned._

_“No, Charlie. Open your eyes,” Miles insists. She hadn’t realized she’d closed them._

_But he is right. They’re shoulder-deep in a cool spring surrounded by evergreen forest. Charlie’s feet slip over smooth stones, and the water is so glassy she can make out their black and gray mosaic. Her eyes drift up from the water’s bottom, to a tuft of rich, dark hair above a perfectly sculpted penis. Miles is naked. And so is she. She can’t recall when that happened or how they got here._

_“Charlie.” His voice has some of the hoarseness that it did in the Tower but of a different quality._

_Miles draws her near and tucks her under his chin, mineral-scented like the water. His dick rises against her belly. Instinctively she pushes into it, and he throws his head back exposing neck. Miles rubs against her, the head of his penis catching briefly in her bellybutton, slicked from the water and its own viscous arousal._

_She should feel remorse, disgust, shame – but she seems to be entirely free of any emotions save curiosity and want. It’s as if they’ve both been born anew for each other. She rakes her fingernails down his back until one hand catches in the meat of his buttocks, and she thrusts him forward. With a primal grunt, he buoys her in the water so that his penis can slide along her folds, catching occasionally on her clit._

_Charlie’s strength melts away, and it’s all she can do to just let him hold her, bobbing in the water. His cock briefly pops in and out of her, and the next time it lodges against her clit she comes, flinging herself heavily against him. He enters her briefly again in that moment, blunt force against her inner wall and then slips back out to reengage his rhythm – up and down. Almost immediately, he comes onto her folds, whispering, Uhhh, into her ear. Charlie buries her face in his neck and lets him come – wants him never to stop. It’s like she can feel his orgasm as deeply as her own._

_They haven’t even kissed, but somehow this is release in its purest form._

Charlie wakes.

* * *

 

Miles can’t bring himself to say the end: One. It’s not as if they will feel it when the ICBMs hit, but his eyes latch on to Charlie as if she is the last thing he’ll see on this earth. Involuntarily, he moves to hold her – needs to smell her in this terrible and final moment. She smells like sage.

_He’s in Iraq, of course. That explains why he’s been worrying about bombs and hot as fuck like he's been plunked in a pot of boiling water._

_He’s lying stomach down on the scorched sand, about to turn to Bass and say, Fuck it’s hot, when he realizes the blonde head next to him is actually Charlie’s. Now his comment on the weather seems unnecessarily profane, so he snaps his mouth shut and lies on his side, cheek in hand. She does the same, and it feels so intimate – nose to nose, breath on breath. He’s suddenly hard; need pools in his balls. As if she can smell his arousal, she leans in to kiss him. Her lips are so soft, he almost can’t feel them – it’s more like the idea of lips. But when she intertwines her legs with his and his erection meets her thigh – that feels real. God, he aches, and the friction of their jeans is almost too much to bear on his delicate head, but he grinds nonetheless. He plunges his hand into her panties to lose his fingers in dripping, silken folds._

_Her moan of “Miles” rings in his ears like strange music, and fuck, he’s coming right there in his pants, while she constricts around his fingers - his lips still searching for hers.  
_

When his eyes flutter open, it dawns on Miles that he is, in fact, lying with his arms around Charlie, one hand caught in her hair, their jackets pooled beside them. The next thing he grasps is that he really _has_ come in his pants. He rolls away from the heat of Charlie’s body in blind terror. What the hell has he done? If that was real, and he’s actually rubbed off on his unconscious niece, then he’s finally crossed the line into unforgivable.

He grabs his elbows, heaving, willing himself not to vomit among the blinking lights of the Tower’s eternal night.

“Miles?” comes Charlie’s shaky voice behind him. He doesn’t dare turn to look. How could he face her again?


	2. Do I Dare Disturb the Universe?

“Miles,” Charlie tries more urgently. Disturbed and befuddled as she is by – well, what was that, a _vision_? – and by it’s lingering effects (warmth, wetness in her jeans) – she has bigger fish to fry right now: her mother. Rachel isn’t moving – is scarcely breathing – and Aaron has just shaken off his own unnatural slumber to grope for Rachel’s pulse in her wrist.

Miles whips his head around at last, his dark eyes veiled in the artificial glow of the control room. He is by Rachel in a second, tactlessly shoving Aaron aside, rolling Rachel's head gently into his lap, and passing his hand over her lips in a graceful gesture Charlie finds oddly alluring. She fixates upon the dirt under his nails like they’re embers on a cold night.

“She’s breathing. What’s wrong with her? Why hasn’t she…?” comes Miles’ gruff voice in fits of hesitation.

The spell over Charlie breaks. So Miles is at least as perplexed as she is about what has transpired. He won’t meet her eyes, she notes. Is it possible he senses what she dreamed? Or worse yet, could she actually have touched him in her unconscious ardor? After all, Miles had been wrapped around her when she woke up. Charlie shivers, reddens, and drags her eyes away from the sight of her raven-haired uncle. Terrible, but her brain immediately transmogrifies the hair of his crown to the dark tuft accentuating …No. She cannot allow herself to think on that.

Her mother is rousing at last, and Miles gently coaxes her to consciousness, much like he did for Charlie beneath Philadelphia. His voice has that ragged quality again. _Shit._ She’s got to stop this.

Something is definitely wrong with her mother – more wrong than with the rest of them. Rachel will open her glassy eyes, but she won’t utter a sound. After launching herself away from Miles, she recoils from any attempt to touch her. Perhaps they have all been to their own private hells during the time they’ve lost – Aaron certainly looks stricken – only Rachel’s hell corresponds to the weight of her perceived sin and is that much more unbearable.

After they've collected their belongings, Miles urges them to a room in the Tower filled with raging water, assuring them it’s the only way out. Trying to edge as far as she can onto the pipes before taking the plunge, Charlie looses footing for a heart-stopping moment, and at first, Miles looks almost hesitant to help. At the last possible second, he grabs her wrist, sending an electric jolt to her belly, to steady her.

Miles doesn’t speak, but his eyes ask if she’s ok. She nods, but she wants to ask why he almost let her fall. When they get far enough out on the pipes, they all jump for it, and Charlie careens down into the rapids, calling up vague memories of watching the laundry twirl as a child. She inhales water and sputters before two strong hands extract her from the ferocious swirling. Miles tucks her under his right arm and swims her toward shore, the dazzling sun of midday announcing that she is outside. The strength of Miles’ swimming can only be described as that of a Marine. Charlie concentrates so hard on not thinking of the last time they were in water together that her head aches. At one point, her leg gets caught in a current and drifts in between his thighs, thudding into the softness of his crotch. He grunts and tries to reposition her as far away from his body as possible. She blushes, this time less from the memory of his (imagined?) nethers and more from her instantaneous desire to unzip his pants and behold him (again?).

When they reach land, Miles sloughs her off almost harshly and helps Rachel to her feet. Hell, he looks like he’s about to help Aaron up before checking on Charlie – very unlike him. It cuts Charlie as if he’s a lover who has cast her off.

They begin to walk, because that's what they do – Charlie in the lead, not wanting to look at him, Miles one step behind Rachel, and Aaron trailing far behind. Finally, from way back Aaron calls: “Ok, guys. That’s it. I’m starving.  I can’t make it any farther.” 

Charlie is relieved to realize that the hollow feeling in her gut is more than the distance widening between her and Miles – it’s hunger. When was the last time they ate? It must have been days.

Instead of Miles biting off Aaron’s head, Miles actually nods agreement and leads them to a dell. Rachel curls into the fetal position, head on jacket, while Miles eyes her, licking his lips nervously.

Just when Charlie thinks Aaron will be spared Miles’ daily humiliation ritual, Miles gets right in Aaron’s face and warns, “You keep this pistol, and if anyone comes near Rachel, scream like your pants are on fire and shoot them dead! Clear?” Charlie is about to object to Miles’ tone, when he adds, “Charlie and I are going to catch us dinner,” and a lump rises in her throat. 

Miles swishes past her, coat flapping, and she dutifully follows.

They walk in in silence until she fears she’ll go mad. “What’s wrong with my mom, you think?” she tries.

The black eyes flick back toward her, catch her blues, and shift away like frightened rabbits. He’s acting so peculiar. What the hell is his problem? He’s not the one recovering from an extended fantasy of them having sex in the water.

He shrugs. “Dunno.” She doesn’t think he’ll follow up, but he asks in a quiet, unsteady voice, “What happened to _you_ back there?”

She stops in her tracks, blood pounding in her ears. How could she possibly answer that? But she’s saved by Miles putting his finger to his lips and pointing at a jackrabbit in the foreground.

He gestures at her crossbow and gets behind her. Charlie’s aim is excellent, but Miles is close enough to feel his breath on her neck, and it makes her hands tremble. They’re so hungry that she can’t afford to miss. Waves of hair have tumbled into her eyes, and she tries to shake them aside to no avail. Miles notices and strokes the hair back into a makeshift ponytail, holding it there out of her face. The magnificent intimacy of the gesture is beyond any embrace they’ve shared. At once she is dead calm; her gaze narrows to the eye of the hare. She releases – _pop_. Dead. She grins widely at Miles, and he seems almost reluctant to loosen her hair. Finally, disappointingly, he lets go. They collect the carcass and walk back in silence.

* * *

The hell was Miles thinking, touching Charlie’s hair like that? They needed the meat, sure; her hair was getting in her eyes, yeah; but mostly, he grabbed her locks without thinking, bewitched by the way the setting sun played off them, golden. When his fingers brushed against the cornsilk, some deep knot within his chest released. Fuck him – _fuck him_ – but the whole time they’re walking back to camp, he’s fantasizing about holding her hair while she’s down on her knees, bobbing up and down his dick. He’s watching his cock-skin glisten, seeing his pulse under her soft, pink lips harden his length. Her crystal blue eyes gaze up at him with playful innocence. Goddammit – he’s hot, hard, and uncomfortable as hell by the time they reach camp.

At least Aaron has managed to keep Rachel alive. The two are sitting in sullen silence watching a pathetic fire wheeze smoke.

Without looking at Charlie or even speaking to her, Miles tosses her his knife, hilt first. She knows what to do with an animal – how to bleed it, skin it, butcher it. Hell, she’s practically doing it to him right now. Miles works on making something useful of the fire. By the time the meat’s cooked, it’s pitch black, and he brings rabbit flesh twisted around a stick to Rachel, kneeling before her. She still hasn’t breathed a word.

“Eat,” he orders her. Rachel’s dead eyes don’t so much as blink. He tries again, mustering all of his patience. He’s seen soldiers get like this, and he’s sincerely worried that Rachel is simply not in there anymore. “Eat, Rachel. Good,” he gestures hand to mouth like a caveman. As if that will get through to her.

Yet somehow it does. She manages a twitch of lip and asks, “Good?”

Miles shrugs, “Well no. I cooked it.” Rachel takes the meat and slowly eats – an enormous relief.

Soon, Miles beds down as far from Charlie as possible but, nevertheless, tosses and turns, thinking of sand, of her wetness – wanting desperately to masturbate. Maybe if he can just squeeze one off, his brain will stop this madness. He gets up abruptly to hide in the trees, but just when he crosses the edge of the firelight, he notices Charlie leaning against a tree, twirling her hair. He sighs heavily and keeps walking right by her. No relief for him.

“Can’t sleep?” he grunts at her, as he passes. 

He hears the crack of twigs as she follows. Desperately afraid of being alone with her, he thinks about announcing a sudden urge to piss, when she whispers: 

“Miles.”

Christ, just the way she says his name could melt him.

“What are we going to do about my mother?”

He can barely see her – she’s just the suggestion of a person. And if she is merely an outline, maybe, just maybe, she’s no more real than his dream in the Tower…No, he can’t think that way.

“Well,” Miles puts his hands on his hips to hold himself together. “Rachel’s dad lives in Texas, not too far away. He’s a doctor. He might know how to help her.”

He can feel rather than see her eyes widen. “Her…my grandpa’s alive?”

“Last I heard, but who knows. Easy to die in the Black. Plus this thing – whatever happened in the Tower – who knows what that did to everyone outside.”

There’s a pregnant silence. Miles kicks a stone.

“Good then. You take her there,” Charlie finally follows up.

“Me…what?” Something is amiss in her phrasing.

“I’m going after Monroe.” 

“What?” Anger shoves out confusion, desire.

“I can’t hang around yo–” Charlie quickly corrects, “ _here_ anymore. I’ve got to go after him.”

“Let it go, Charlie. He’s washed up – a king without a kingdom. Forget him.”

“No.” 

“Where the hell is this coming from? I do something wrong?” God damn him: He’s whining like he’s her lover – honestly, vulnerably. It's humiliating.

“Miles, you let him escape, what, three, four times? You’re never going to settle scores. I will.”

“Fu-” Miles has grabbed her upper arm, tightly, but catches his words before they cut too deeply. “How dare you say that to me. You don’t know what happened with Monroe,” he growls.

“That’s right, because you won’t tell me.” Charlie’s eyes light down at his fingers pressed into her bicep, but Miles doesn’t release it. Somehow he has it in his head that if he clings to her, she can’t leave.

Charlie’s voice softens slightly, “What happened all those years ago when you left the Militia? Why’d you leave? Why didn’t you kill Monroe when you had the chance?” 

Fine. She’s going to force this. _Fine._ He drops her arm and stalks over to a tree, pounding a fist on it. Fucking hell. He actually feels like he’s going to cry. If he tries to make a sound, he’ll choke on his own tears. He hopes she can’t tell, but after a long silence, he feels her hand on his back – tentative, shy. And now _that’s_ wrecking havoc with his innards.

Miles focuses on the warmth from her hand and croaks: “I…” He catapults over the bubble in his throat, “I hated myself. What I had become. Was so sorry for all of it. But Bass wouldn’t stop – he was like a freight train. I controlled him for so long, until…I couldn’t.” There it is. Miles turns abruptly to look at Charlie – so quickly, in fact, that her hand doesn’t have time to retract and grazes across his ribs. She nearly leaps back.

“You still love him. Ok,” she says. “It’s how you are. I get that now. You’re at least as much of a freight train as he is – just on a better track.” She laughs at the stupid metaphor, taken too far, but the laugh rings hollow. “I have to leave. I…I think you feel it, too.”

The bottom drops out of Miles’ stomach. No way can she be feeling what he is. He edges out, “What?” so roughly it sounds like his throat’s been swabbed.

“Nothing. Forget it. I’m going.”

“What, now? You've gotta wait until morning. It’s not safe.”

“Safe!? I’m not safe here with you.”

“Charlie,” Miles gasps for air. “How can you say that to me?”

“I’m sorry, Miles. Goodbye.”

She lopes back toward camp, leaving Miles so stunned, so bereft, that by the time he strides after her, he can just make out her blonde hair swishing away in the dark. Miles instantly drops to his knees before Aaron. “Aaron, pssst.” He slaps the fat cheeks a few times.

“Wuh? Jesus, Miles. Stop. I’m awake. What is it?”

“I need you to promise me you’ll get Rachel to Willoughby, Texas. Her dad’s there – he’s a doctor. He can help.”

“What, you’re leaving again?” Aaron gasps accusingly.

“Charlie took off. I’ve got to follow her and make sure she stays safe.”

“ _Took off_?”

“Yes, Aaron. Something wrong with your ears? And every second you delay me it gets harder to find her.”

“But…why did she leave?”

Miles shakes his head in exasperation. “ _Me_ , ok? I fuck things up. But I’ll get her back.” Again it sounds more like something a lover than an uncle would say. Miles prays to God Aaron can’t see the flush in his cheeks. “Just take care of Rachel, alright?”

Aaron nods. Jesus, Miles hopes he can trust Aaron. Despite the guy’s numerous flaws, he and Rachel made it to the Tower together; they should be able to make it to fucking Podunk, Texas. 

Miles grabs his pack and bedroll and sprints silently in the direction Charlie went. She’s a fair tracker – _better than fair_ – and he’ll have to make like an owl if he’s going to be her guardian angel. He actually takes off his boots and strings them around his neck, he’s so worried she’ll hear him. As he picks through the brush, he ponders her words: _I think you feel it too. I’m not safe with you._

What could she possibly have meant? Miles tries hard not to picture her young breasts making peaks in that rotten tanktop. Those pearly teeth flashing around rosebud lips. The triangle of her jeans where her long, thin thighs meet. Well hell, he’s got nobody for company now but his dick, and it’ll have its way. It always does. He gives in and allows himself to concentrate on the friction of its sensitive flesh against rough material as he walks.

When Miles senses he’s closed the gap considerably between them – he can’t get too close or it’ll give him away – he leans his arm against a tree, resting his forehead upon it. This will only take a minute – he’s a Marine – he has exquisite control over his bodily functions. Shit now, piss now, jerk off now. The free hand unzips his fly and digs in his boxers for what is achingly stiff. He pulls viciously on his cock, squeezing his eyes against his muddy forearm and biting his lip. Fuuuck. He sees Charlie as he does it, of course. He pictures her graceful hand dipping into his pants and interlocking with his fingers, helping him to wank. Heat builds, his balls draw in, and release is swift - squirting upwards into the hem of his shirt. Shit. He should have lifted that up – getting sloppy in his need. He rides his orgasm, biting his lip hard enough to taste metal. A smear of come over the head sends a glorious ripple of chills throughout his entire body. He puts away his dick with a sigh, and all of this in under a minute. Now he’s back on Charlie’s scent like a bloodhound.


	3. Till Human Voices Wake Us, and We Drown.

Charlie’s made the right decision leaving – she knows she has. Miles was acting strangely enough that he must have sensed some kind of shift in her, and there is danger in that. Charlie needs distance to figure this out and going after that asshole Monroe gives her something concrete to do. A mission might eclipse this perverse passion she’s developed for her uncle.

 _Her uncle_ – the hurt swam in his dark eyes when she told him that she wasn’t safe with him. And why the hell did she say it that way anyway, when it’s _her_ she can’t trust? _She’s_ the one who can’t manage her thoughts around him. Impulse control has never exactly been her strong point, and she’s terrified she’ll fess up if given half the chance. If Miles knew the truth of what she’d dreamt in the Tower, he’d abandon her in revulsion. Better she go now.

Charlie finds she's bizarrely energized even though it’s the dead of night. Like a moth, she migrates toward the distant glow of lanterns and an eerie din. Finally she’s upon a boomtown of sorts. Shifty, unbathed people are walking the streets like it’s midday. There are rickety wooden buildings inviting gamblers, fortune-seekers, opium smokers. This seems as good a place to look for Monroe as any. A son-of-a-bitch like him would fit right in. But where might one solicit information? Charlie’s eyes drift to an outdoor saloon, and she hops up on a stool, forking out some change for a…it dawns on her: _I’ve never ordered a drink in my life._

“Whiskey, please.” It’s what Miles would get – a tough, don’t-fuck-with-me drink. The bartender raises an eyebrow like he’s scandalized (most likely by her good-mannered use of 'please') but presently plunks down the amber liquid. In a moment, a huge oaf with one gauged-out eye occupies the stool beside her, reeking of booze and BO.

“Hey there, little lady. You ain’t from around here,” he grins, missing all of his front teeth. Utterly revolting.

Charlie swallows. _You’re a Matheson – act like it._ “I’m looking for somebody. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Sebastian Monroe.”

The brute’s eyes widen, and he guffaws like she’s cracked a hilarious joke. “Sure, everyone does. He’s a fighter here in town. I can take you to him after this drink.”

“Ok then,” she agrees, tossing back her whiskey and nearly choking. Tears burn her eyes. He matches her enthusiasm, downing his moonshine, and gestures for her to follow.

It takes Charlie ages on his labyrinthine path to realize she’s in trouble – and by that point they’re in a secluded alley at the back of town. An old tomcat feasts upon a rat corpse with a scowl, and Charlie takes the distraction of the flash of emerald eyes to fumble for her crossbow – too late. Her beastly companion knocks her weapon to the ground and shoves her up against the wall, pulling a switchblade on her throat. She knees him in the nuts, but he’s staggeringly huge. She’s no match. 

“Just for that, I’ll cut you before I fuck you,” he announces with a sinister grin, swiping the blade painfully from her left shoulder across her breasts to her right ribcage. It stings like the world’s largest paper cut. 

Charlie struggles against the putrid wall of body, but the giant’s undeterred, ripping her pants with gusto.

A flash of silver in front of his neck, and his jugular explodes into a scarlet spray. He collapses, dead. It's Miles. 

Miles’s chest is heaving with the revelation that he almost didn’t get here in time. His eyes flick down to the enormous gash across her chest, the torn pants. He _didn’t_ get here in time. _Fuck._ He reaches out with both hands to hold Charlie’s face.

“Charlie, are you ok?” he spits each word with desperate precision. “Jesus! Your chest!” He clamps his forearm across her wound to staunch the flow.

Charlie feels like the blood is draining out of her face to exit her chest. She tries to lean forward against her uncle, but given the position of his arm, can only just rest her forehead on his shoulder. She feels him shift his head to press his lips onto her sweaty crown. Her brain suggests they stay this way forever, but Miles interrupts in an unsteady voice:

“We’ve got to stop the bleeding – get you some help.”

“Where? The people in that town didn’t exactly look friendly.” She’s starting to feel woozy more at the idea of her wound than from the actual blood loss. Miles encircles her waist with his arm and guides her forward.

He's got only got one idea, and he prays it works. “Whores. They’ll usually help at times like this. Women’s code and such.” He spent enough time at a whorehouse in Philly plotting to overthrow Monroe to have learned that the female sex feels some unexplained allegiance to one another. 

Inexplicable jealousy floods Charlie at the thought of Miles having any experience with prostitutes, but she allows him to guide her to a storefront with blackened windows. She barely listens to what Miles says in order to negotiate access to a back room, but money changes hands, and before she knows it, Miles helps her onto a mattress that rests directly upon the floor.

With a flush of embarrassment, Miles goes to work removing Charlie’s torn shirt as carefully as possible. “Sorry, Charlie. It’s got to come off so I can see the damage. That too,” he says when he gets down to her bra.

Miles has no idea how he’s going to react to the sight of Charlie’s bare breasts, but he’s got to focus on the wound. He can’t tell how badly she’s hurt – can’t even tell which blood is hers and which belongs to the fucker he’s killed. 

Charlie compliantly lifts up her back so that he can unhook her but closes her eyes when he pulls it off to avoid his gaze. 

The cut is deep and oozing on one side but narrows to fairly inconsequential by the time it reaches her ribs. It needs to be cleaned. His eyes travel down to her ripped jeans, and he’s going to have to ask sooner or later.

“Charlie,” Miles asks to her closed eyes, “Did he hurt you…” _God how can he phrase this_ , “down there?”

Charlie's cheeks burn, and though she tries to shake her head, she scarcely suceeds.

Deprived of an answer, Miles lifts her out of her tattered pants, but there’s no blood there at least. Her faded pink underwear is so threadbare, he can see the darkness of pubic hair beneath and swallows before looking away. He’s startled by the arrival of one of the whores bringing in a pan of water, some disinfectant, towels, and a needle and thread. 

“She need stitches?” the woman asks in a throaty Texas accent.

Miles shrugs, and together they set to work cleaning the wound.

Charlie keeps her eyes clothes and focuses on breathing in and out, trying to distance herself from the pain. She allows the warmth of the water, the swishing of the rags, the thought of Miles’ hands on her to be of comfort.  

She hears the prostitute say to Miles, “She’ll only need a few stitches on her shoulder. I’ll do it – used to be a seamstress.”

With the seamstress at work, Miles sits back, trying not to ogle the pale, shapely breasts of his niece, to fixate on their perfect pink centers.

The whore departs with, “If you and your girlfriend need anything…”

Miles flinches at the implication. But no one knows them here, so he just nods, relieved when she's gone.

“How you feeling?” Miles asks Charlie, crouching on his haunches at her side. 

His lined face looms over her, and she says in a cracked voice, “Ok.” The constrictive bandage helps ease the sting. “We should get out of here, right?” 

“Nah, we’ve got this room for the next 24 hours,” Miles assures.

Twenty-four hours - both alarming and exhilarating.

“It was stupid of you to run off. Look what happened,” Miles berates guiltily, knowing she doesn't deserve it but angry as fuck. And since he can’t kill that bottom-sucking turd a second time, he’ll sure as hell let Charlie know how reckless she was to put them in this position. 

“I had to go, Miles,” she sighs wearily. Maybe it’s time to be at least a little honest. Charlie begins in a trembling voice, “I saw something in the Tower. Something that involved you. I just can’t…” That’s all she can manage.

Miles scratches his jaw in apparent confusion. “What…like a prophesy?”

“No. I can’t say. I’m sorry.”

Miles’ face softens, and he lets his big hand fall on her forehead. “You can say anything to me, Charlie.” He means it. He loves her so much he could choke on it right here and now.

“You’re wrong,” is all she responds.

“You think I’ll get angry?” Miles feels a sudden pang of regret for being so short-tempered with Charlie. She already confessed she doesn’t feel safe with him; why does he insist on being such a dick?

“It’s not that. I mean, I’m not afraid you’ll be mad – just disgusted.” Charlie gulps. She can’t believe she’s even gotten this far. Is she actually going to tell him?

Now Miles is really perplexed. “You kidding me? After all I’ve done? How could _I_ be disgusted with _you_?”

Charlie closes her eyes and utters the words – each one releasing an enormous weight, like unchained balloons. “I dreamt we were together. _Together_ ,” she repeats, hoping he’ll grasp her meaning without further explanation. Apparently he does.

Miles retracts his hand from her face and wheels abruptly backward, pacing over to the wall, tensely resting his palms against the wood in front of him. This was the last thing she was supposed to say.

“It can’t be,” he whispers hoarsely.

 _Of course he’s horrified_ , she thinks. Rightly so. But what’s said is said. “You wanted to know what happened to me in the Tower, and there it is. You and I…I dreamt we made love.”

Miles physically cringes at that. Not fuck – but _made love_. Why the hell does she have to say it like that? What in Christ's name is she trying to do to him?

But she’s not even finished. She whispers the next bit in awe, “I _liked_ it. So much, Miles – I can’t bear it.”

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Miles digs his fingers into the wall like he’s hoping it will suck him into another dimension – one where he isn’t drowning in desire for this young, exquisite creature, who, by the fucking way, _is his niece_. But he’s being a coward. Charlie just said all of that out loud, and he won’t even look at her. He turns slowly to face her – her vulnerable china-white torso, one breast peeking out and the other obscured by bandage. Those invitingly dirty panties.

Charlie notices him looking at her body and feels compelled to ask, “What did you see at the Tower?” Is it her imagination, or are his pupils dilated with lust? “You saw something too, didn’t you?”

The raw voice wavers, “It doesn’t matter what I saw…we can’t…we’re uncle and niece, Charlie. Blood relatives. Nothing could ever happen between us.”

She’s astounded by what he’s confirmed. So he dreamt of her. Could they have possibly had the same vision?

She blurts out desperately, “Did you see us together in the water?”

“Water? No…in Iraq in the sand.” Miles is sweating and pulls his fingers through spiky hair.

“Miles, please come over here.”

The invitation is all it takes. Miles falls on his knees beside Charlie, and she instantly cups his stubbled cheek, drawing him down into her lips. Unlike in his dream, Miles can feel the soft raised skin. So needy, he crams his lips against hers, deepening the kiss, forcing her to open her mouth so that he can taste her fully - salty, sweet. Without being cognizant of it, he’s managed to entangle his fingers in her golden mane, and it feels like he's just come home after a damn tour in Iraq. 

With each passing second, he’s loosing any will to control his body – dick hardening, pulse hammering. At last, he yanks away, both of them gasping. 

“Charlie,” he rasps. “Stop,” but he’s commanding himself not her.

 _Who is ever going to know?_ Charlie thinks, because it’s convenient. But she pleads, “Miles, I want you,” and prays he wants her even half as badly, because if he does, there is no way he’ll be able to resist the force of this thing.

Miles covers his face with his hand. “Yeah? And so what? It _can’t_ happen.”

“It already is,” Charlie assures with a ring of resolute inevitability. Miles' dick actually lurches at her words.

Charlie pulls Miles by the hand onto the mattress and climbs atop him, making sure to place her now soaked crotch squarely onto his, so he won’t be able to change his mind. She is so wet that Miles can clearly see her dark hair and the outline of her folds through her panties. She rakes her nails through his short hair and glides them over his lips. He kisses her fingers as they pass all the way to the bottom of his shirt to pull it off. Charlie thinks, _He’s let me do that, so why wait?_ Unzip, unbutton. He looks sorry, but he’s not stopping her. She helps him out of his boots, socks, and jeans, and then turns back to extract his boxers. A beautiful spring of cock, and she’s finally beholding him in real life – better even than the dream. His dick: pink, straining, glorious. Miles yanks down her underwear, and the sudden rush of air on her dripping nethers makes her moan.

“Can I?” she asks with absurd politeness, as she migrates down his thighs to poise her lips over his pulsing dick. Miles nods and closes his eyes.

Once her gentle lips graze his head, that’s it for him. He’s not stopping this for anything. He’s going to have Charlie exactly how he wants from start to finish, all 24 fucking hours. Charlie sucks and pops and works the base of his dick with her left hand with firm and satisfying conviction.

Miles groans, “Charlie, I’m gonna come. You might want to stop.”

 _Pop_ \- “Not stopping; want your come in my mouth,” she insists.

Miles shakes his head with his eyes still squeezed shut. _Jesus_ , he mouths. _Fuck_. She’s back at work, and he feels her saliva dribbling down the length of him into his pubic hair. He spends the better part of a minute trying to will Charlie’s free hand to his balls to finish him off, before he finally grabs it forces it against his taut sac. She takes the hint with a laugh and pulls on his balls, roughly, rapturously. He comes instantly in the wet, warm space of her mouth. Though Charlie’s been properly warned, the sudden tide appears to overwhelm her, and she lurches aside, pearly white cascading from her lips.

He smiles at her surprise and debauchment, still shivering in pleasure. “You ok? You done that before?”

Charlie wipes her mouth. “No, at least, not all the way. Was it…was it what you wanted?” God she worships his penis, and she'd be remiss if she failed it just now.

“C’mere,” Miles grunts, pulling her up onto his chest with gentle allowance for her wound. “It’s _exactly_ what I wanted.” He strokes her hair comfortingly. “How’s your chest, babe?” Even he is startled by his sudden use of the intimate term. He’s so fucking far gone with this. What the hell will they do when their borrowed time runs out?

“A little sore, but honestly, I don’t really care right now,” Charlie assures, nuzzling into his armpit while drinking in the word _babe_ and the masculine perfume of sweat.

Miles tenderly trails the back of his hand over her cheek.

“So…what now?” Charlie mumbles.

Miles chuckles at her inexperience – her assumption that him getting off is the endgame. “Well we’ve got 24 hours. Let’s make the best of it.”

Miles wants desperately to touch her hard, little breast, so he grazes a thumb along the visible nipple. It hardens. He rolls her over so she’s on her back and kisses at it gently. So disappointing that he doesn’t have full access to the set. He runs his lips down to her navel and then along her inner thigh.

With the sexiest possible raggedness, she gasps, “Miles!”

He spreads her legs and pushes them up so she is foot-sole to mattress. In full view now is her glistening, swollen cunt. He admires her for so long that she makes a small sound of impatience.

Another chuckle and, “Ok, Charlie. I’m getting there. Just – you’re beautiful, and I may never see you like this again.” The words hang sadly for a moment, before he plunges in. 

First he slides a calloused finger down her slit and into her. Then he presses his mouth to her clit, flicking with his tongue. She melts into him. He eventually fills her with more fingers and soon she’s moaning without inhibition. Finally he does something she’s never experienced – never even imagined. He pushes against her sphincter with the pad of a finger before just entering it with the fingertip. She comes so hard – her vagina, uterus, and asshole spasming at once in a magnificent orchestra of sensation.

“Yeahhh,” Miles encourages her, looking totally enraptured when he lifts his puffy lips from her pussy. “You like that?”

“Uhh. Want you in me,” she manages to convey despite having lost the function of her tongue.

“Oh, we’re getting to that part.”

Her eyes practically bulge as she realizes that they really are going to do this – all of it. And she needs it: “ _Now_.” 

Miles smiles. “Gimme a few minutes. The price you pay for having sex with an old man.”

Charlie's face must demonstrate her sudden fear that she’s wounded his pride, because before she can even fully sputter out, “You’re perfect to me!” he’s tucked her against his body and is kissing her hair.

“How can I help?” She asks eagerly, gazing down toward his stirring dick.

Miles places her hand on it with a grunted, “Like that,” and guides her for a few strokes before she gets the rhythm.

It takes a little while to fully rouse, but shit does it feel good. Miles is so relaxed, he almost drifts off to sleep before he remembers they only have one night.

Finally Miles pulls her hand off his dick and pins both of her delicate wrists to the mattress. The dazzling blue eyes gleam up at him in anticipation. She’s all porcelain and rose edges. Too much pretty for one human. 

His dominating body descends, overwhelming her with the familiar river-whiskey scent and his addictive sweat. He kisses her gently and then more ravenously, tip of tongue parting her lips. Before she has time to think, he has reached down to enter her and crap, does it feel heavenly. He’s big and filling – far more man than she’s used to. He slides a thumb over her clit to give her something to grind against, and she gamely bucks against him.

Her entire world has smalled to the dick thudding against her cervix, when for a disappointing moment, it leaves her empty. Miles flips her on her side, legs together and enters her from behind.

All he sees is the alluring peek of vulva between her thighs and holy hell, he’s got to pound her. She’s even tighter from this angle, and the blood rushes in his ears. He reaches around her ass to palm her clit and sucks on her earlobe.

“Miles!” - her cry as she comes again, heaving into his hand. Fuck. He doesn’t want this to be over yet, so he grinds to a halt and focuses on the way a constellation of moles on her shoulder points down toward her rounded, pristine buttock. He kisses her there, and before he even knows he’s said it, his stupid mouth has blurted:

“Love you, Charlie.” 

It shatters the air like bricks. Stupidest fucking thing he’s ever done. But Charlie immediately whips around to hold his cheeks. Shit, he can’t even look at her. How could he do this?

“Miles, open your eyes.”

He gulps and obeys. Eyes as clear blue as Alpine lakes. Sometimes the truth will out, and there's nothing you can do about it.

“I love you, too," she says to his surprise. "How can love be wrong?” 

He shivers. “It just can be. This is.”

 _Fuck that_ , she thinks and giggles at the uncharacteristic dirtiness of her internal monologue. She pushes him flat on his back with the palm of her hand. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure you can’t live without me then,” she suggests, guiding his wet dick back into her folds as she mounts him, both hands raking through his chest hair.

“Mmm,” he groans, eyes closing in rapture.

She likes being in control of him – looming at the gateway of his release, her vagina completely loose and pliant. She’s rocking slowly against the hard line of his dick, dragging this out. He tries to grab her hips, but she playfully slaps his hands down.

“Uh-uh. My way.”

“Can your way be harder?” Miles begs raggedly. “Cock tease," he complains. He’s trying to thrust upward, straining as she holds him at arm's length.

“Tell me _exactly_ what you want, Miles” she smiles greedily. Her brain is still racing with the revelation that he loves her back. She might as well enjoy him to the last drop.

“Fuck me,” he groans. “Hard. Fast. Please.”

It sounds so dirty, so hot, that she doesn’t think twice before she complies.

He has to violently fling her aside, he’s coming so fast. Some probably still got inside her. He’s coming on her thighs and hands and making an animal-like growl into her neck.

Charlie strokes his damp hair as his spasms subside. She whispers, “How much time do we have left?”

Miles chuckles. “Fuck, Charlie. I think you broke me. I might need a nap.”

He takes her into his arms, as she settles cheek to his chest.

“Miles, I don’t think I can live without this.” Part awed revelation, part aching bereavement.

It’s like his heart stops beating for a moment. “But you’re going to have to,” comes the wisftul truth.

They cling tightly to one another until their 24 hours are up, when at last the spell is broken.


End file.
